


five times leliana wanted to sing and the one time she couldn't stop.

by popPulchritude



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:25:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popPulchritude/pseuds/popPulchritude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She sang until the Maker came to her in a dream again and told her this was no way to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	five times leliana wanted to sing and the one time she couldn't stop.

i.  
  
Little Leliana stood on her toes and poked – and prodded – and shook – and all those things mama told her never to do to her arm when it was half past noon and mama wouldn’t wake up to do her morning chores. Lady Cecilie stood beside her with the saddest face ever and Leliana felt worried. Was she in trouble?  
  
“Lady Cecilie, mama doesn't want to wake up yet but you won’t fire her, right?”  
  
Lady Cecilie knelt and faced Leliana at eye level. The skin on her face was cracked like dried mud – mama called them “wrinkles” – but she was beautiful even still. She hugged Leliana so hard, Leliana couldn’t breathe properly.  
  
“Your mother is dead, child.”  
  
Mama told her about dead, once, back when she was braiding her hair and she was alive and healthy.  
  
Leliana’s throat was dry.

ii.  
  
“Where are we going, Lady Cecilie?” Little Leliana asked, four feet tall and intoxicated by colors and sensation. The city their carriage entered was big – bigger than Lady Cecilie’s estate, bigger than the sky itself, she thought – and it was full of flowers and colors; banners and song.  
  
Lady Cecilie said, “Val Royeaux.”  
  
“Val Ro – Ro – Royo is very pretty, Lady Cecilie. Are we going to live here now? There are so many pretty houses. Ooh, that one is a pink house. I want a pink house someday.”  
  
Lady Cecilie laughed. She was nothing like Leliana’s mama, but she always wanted a daughter and Leliana needed a mother. “No, I’m afraid not, dear. But you told me you want to be a lady, yes? We’re going to buy you a dress, and then we’re going to see if we can find someone that could teach you how to sing. After lunch, of course.”  
  
Leliana gasped, bubbling with energy; she felt like she was going to explode in her seat. “Oh! Lady Cecilie! Thank you!”  
  
While waiting for the carriage to stop, Leliana tried to hum a few broken notes about a merchant and his wife.  
  
iii.  
  
Leliana met the Most Amazing woman today.  
  
She wore a red, flowing dress with lilacs in her hair; her eyes were deep as pools and she had a laugh like spring time. Leliana wore a simple sky blue dress and light make-up. Her breasts didn’t fit right and the lighting made her hair look oily; she didn’t want the Most Amazing woman to see her like this, perhaps she would sneak away to her room and apologize to Lady Cecilie in the morning.  
  
But she couldn’t leave. She was transfixed. She watched her all night as she sang, her voice sweet and smooth like a nightingale.  
  
Against all odds and logic, she made her way to Leliana’s table with two glasses of wine and a smile that could burn down the whole city.  
  
“Hello, pretty thing. I’m Marjolaine.”  
  
  
  
  
In the dark corners of Lady Cecilie’s garden, Marjolaine kissed her, light and airy with the promise of more to come.  
  
iv.  
  
In the bright halls of the chantry, betrayal weighed heavy on Leliana’s shoulders – but she was oddly at peace.  
  
Lothering was your typical farmer village. Everything was made of wood; this wood was often tracked with mud. It smelled of wet dog and rotting cabbage. The chantry wasn’t much different from its surroundings. It was small, barely bigger than the broom closet of the Grand Cathedral, and the chairs were chipped and worn from use. Religious folk of every kind lined the halls in religious contemplation.   
  
At the middle of the quaint establishment was an old, marble statue of Andraste. There were stories all over the object; some of the sides were chipped, some burned. But despite of it all, Andraste remained beautiful and the light that emanated around her image made her even more radiant.  
  
A single diamond in a pile of coal.  
  
Intangible ideas didn’t have images, but she thought this would be what hope looked like.  
  
v.  
  
Marjolaine was dead, but this didn’t bother Leliana.  
  
Because she met the  _real_ Most Amazing woman in the world. She wore white, battle worn dwarven armor with bits of twigs in her hair; her eyes were bright brown and she had a laugh like spring time. Leliana wore dark blue drake skin armor and no make-up. Her hair was  _definitely_ oily, but that was all right, Sereda’s hair was too.  
  
Leliana watched her as she tried really, really hard to spark a fire while trading jabs with Alistair. Conceding that she did not, in fact, have survival skills – oh, put a sock in it, Alistair – she handed over the rocks to her fellow Warden who succeeded in making a fire, much to her disapproval. She told him he could make dinner too, since he’s so smart. Alistair didn’t look so smug anymore.  
  
She pushed her bun braids up haphazardly – her idea of fixing up her hair, Leliana thought – and sat next to Leliana.  
  
“You look like you wanted to talk?”  
  
Leliana flushed, her face redder than her hair, redder than the campfire. “I – was – just… appreciating your unparalleled survival skills.”  
  
Sereda rolled her eyes, shoving Leliana’s arm. “You’re hurting all my womanly feelings, you know.”  
  
“You have feelings to hurt?”  
  
“And the Orlesian bard goes for the low blow! Here I thought that was only one of your sneaky fighting skills.”  
  
“I’m a rogue. It’s a flexible sort of thing.”  
  
Sereda shook her head fondly. When the laughter ceased, she wore her no-nonsense face. “But really. Are you feeling better?”  
  
“Yes, a little better. Time heals all wounds, or so they say. I had a lot of fun times with Marjolaine, and I will always cherish them, but it’s time to move on, yes?”  
  
The fire crackled and the wolves howled in the distance. Tonight, the sky was full of stars. Sereda looked contemplative, and confessed.

 

 

  
In the warm light of the campfire, under the blanket of stars, Sereda kissed Leliana, reckless and passionate, the kiss of a woman who only had months to live.  
  
vi.  
  
“I’m… sorry, Leliana. Sereda’s dead.”  
  
That night, Leliana locked herself in her assigned quarters. Her hands were shaking and her tears wouldn’t stop, but she kept writing. Composing. For the first time in her life, the words came easy, the melody haunting her every waking moment. She wrote, and wrote, and wrote.  
  
And then, she sang.  
  
She sang her ballad at the Fereldan court, at Sereda’s funeral.   
  
She sang this alone at her mother and Lady Cecilie’s graves; at stages in the grand courts of Val Royeaux and the quaint halls of the Lothering chantry. She sang so much she inspired minstrels to tell the story of the the hero of Ferelden and her devoted love. She sang until it was the only thing she knew how to do, afraid to turn around and face her grief. She sang until the Maker came to her in a dream again and told her this was no way to live.  
  
So, eventually she packed away her lyrics and did her best to hide her scars.


End file.
